


dumb criminals go to the beach and fuck around

by apprenticenanoswarm



Category: DCU (Comics), The Flash (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 13:46:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17561540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apprenticenanoswarm/pseuds/apprenticenanoswarm
Summary: digger's pov





	dumb criminals go to the beach and fuck around

 What better way to celebrate a successful heist than a bloody good midnight beach fry-up?

Digger flopped back on the sand and inhaled, the smell of sausages sizzling away filling his nostrils. Mick had burnt the first lot and Len had subsequently banished him to Axel’s sand fortress, within which he now skulked, sharing a cigarette with Evan. Len had taken over sausage duties, humming an old rock song to himself, while nearby Hartley was buttering buns -  _hah, there’s a gay joke in there, never pass up a chance to take the piss out of Pipey_ \- and James was roasting marshmallows. Mark, a joint in one hand and his wand in the other, had conjured up a warm gentle breeze to blow the smoke away from their eyes. 

“Digger!” called Lisa from where she was lounging against Roscoe’s chest. “Another beer over here.”

“What d’ya last handmaiden die of, milady?” he groused.

“One for me too, George,” chimed in Sam, princely on a plastic deck chair, gazing up at the stars with his eyes all pensive. He had a jacket on but he was also wearing shorts and his long slim legs were glowing in the light of a full moon…

 _Bah. Stop it._  

Digger shook his head and fetched the beers.

“Len, how much longer?” Mark called. “I’m fucking starving.”

“Can’t rush this kinda thing, Mardon. It’s an art,” said Len, rolling the sossies over with his spatula. “Go check on Evan, will ya? Make sure he’s behaving.”

_‘Make sure he’s not shooting up.’_

As Mark headed off towards the fortress, Digger finally perfected the gay joke he’d been crafting and turned to Hartley to fire it off, only to see him accepting a marshmallow from James, his cheeks a soft pink.  _Blegh_. Couldn’t they keep that sort of thing to themselves? Ah, shit, now Len was shooting him a warning glance, like he could read Digger’s mind.

So instead, Digger turned back to Sam and said, “Oi - you wanna go swimming while we wait?”

Sam tilted his head. “No?”

Tugging his arm, Digger said, “Come on. Work up an appetite, yeah?”

“What about…sharks?”

Sam cast a wary eye towards the dark rolling waves.

A bellow of rage made everyone start and James swear as a marshmallow fell into the flames. From the sand fortress, Evan erupted like some ancient subterranean horror, and raced across the sand in pursuit of Mark, whose longer legs gave him the edge but who Digger suspected would lose the race through lack of efficient oxygen use. Bloke couldn’t stop laughing.

Dripping, Mick lumbered up to their fire. “Asshole made it rain on us. Gimme a beer.”

“Get it yourself, mate, I’m off for a swim,” said Digger. “Sam?”

“Nope.”

“Hell with you, then.”

Honestly, he thought as he dove beneath the waves, who could come to the beach and not even take a dip? When he’d been growing up in the sticks, he’d dreamed every day of white waves and the crisp smell of saltwater. Hell, any kind of water. They hadn’t had plumbing, just the old well and a muddy pond half a mile from the house. He’d been seventeen and on his first visit to the big city when he’d taken his first ever bath. It had been a quasi-religious experience, sinking deep down, immersing every inch of himself, hearing the world go muffled and soft. It had been the moment he’d realized exactly what being poor as shit had taken from him, the moment he’d decided  _Bollocks to that, I’m never **ever**  gonna not have money again. _

He broke above the surface, gasping, blinking at the sky, and grinned. Nothing beat swimming at night. No tourists, no surfers, no bloody kids. Perfect.

“Hey there, asshole.”

Sam paddled up on a surfboard, still somehow looking like a lord visiting his subjects. Not one of his perfect nut-brown hairs was damp.

“Where’d you get that?” Digger asked, contemplating the pros and cons of pushing him off.

“It’s Axel’s. He’s busy looking for a crab to drop down the back of Lisa’s dress.”

_Jesus._

“Sam, he’ll fucking die.”

“Nah. Broken arm at worst. It’ll be a learning experience. Also funny.”

Digger swam forward and rested his arms on the edge of the board. “Not worried about sharks anymore, then?”

Back on the shore, Evan and James had teamed up to pursue Mark with water pistols, while Mark had conjured a small sandstorm to blow them back.

“Figured that on balance it’s probably safer out here.”

Sam smirked and in despair Digger thought,  _Oh bloody hell, you’re so fucking lovely._

“I actually used to love swimming when I was a kid,” Sam went on, looking pensive again. “When I was like…eight. We had a pool. And my dad would drive us out to this lake on the weekends. So for a while I was pretty good.”

“Come in, then. S’not that cold.”

“Mm. Or you could get up here.”

It took a few attempts before he’d successfully clambered up to sit behind Sam on the board, both their legs swaying like seaweed in the water. 

“You know how to surf?” Digger queried. 

“Not really.”

“I do. Surfing…it’s got a lot of the same basic principles as throwing a ‘rang. Could teach ya sometime.”

Humming, Sam started to paddle them back towards the shore and the smell of sausages.

 


End file.
